Magic for Hire
by MiniDemons
Summary: There's a war, a war of the mythical versus the humans and Deidara? Deidara is the gun for hire getting thrown right in the middle of that war by accepting the job that has him temporarily joining the Akatsuki and being partnered up with the infamous Sasori.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 **This is an AU taking place in the U.S. and is Deidara-centric for a good portion of it. It has been a long while since I've watched Naruto (and even longer since I've actually decided to try to write a chaptered story). I will give warning, I am not the best writer out there (I'm more of an artist in all honesty ;)) and there is a … 80% chance I won't finish this (even though I have at least 70% of the plot written down.) since I'm going to be MIA after August and I can not write that fast XD**

 **But since I do like writing, and I haven't really written a fan fiction yet for my favorite ship- here's my try! Characters may be OOC (most likely they are actually haha) but I hope you enjoy my little story.**

He was born at a poor house, four older siblings and he came out screaming like a maniac- like he knew what the future would hold for him. His tiny little hands held onto his mother finger with terrifying strength and 9 times out of ten? He refused to release her hand. He cried whenever his mother was away from him. His father though? That little boy hated his father with a burning passion, refused to stay still when the man touched him and cried with a vengeance when he was stuck alone with the man.

It started early on, the strange occurrences around the babe. Lights would flicker or blow out, things would mysteriously vanish, his father catching horrible colds or odd allergies for a temporarily amount of time. The man thought for sure the babe was cursed, going as far as bringing a priest to the room so that she can exorcise the demon from the child. At the tender age of two the babe found himself sitting at the steps of an orphanage. No note, just a babe crying in the drizzling rain.

He was nameless for the first five years of his life after that, often referred to as Curse or Daemon. His first name was Felix, sharp and proud like the boy wasn't. The name gave him confidence, made him think of a phoenix. He started having an odd fascination with fire after discovering the mythical flaming birds.

When he was ten the orphanage caught fire, the boy being blamed but no proof actually existing. After that the boy only wore long sleeved shirts and made sure to cut a hole in the lower part of his sleeve so he can fit his thumb through the hole. He never showed his palm to anyone after that.

His second name was Regis. It came with a new orphanage where he quickly became the leader, beating any child who dared to call him Cursed, or Pyromaniac, or Daemon or whatever other forsaken name others came up with. He took to his longer frame, stronger body like a duck to water, showing off any scars he received from his quarrels with the older boy like the battle wounds they were. He no longer needed the name Felix to make him feel stronger, he was at the peak of his strength- a proud flame… a King.

At twelve he started growing his blonde hair out, tucking it in a bun when it started growing too long. Most of the orphanage boys gave him a wide berth, a few still tried their luck and even less interacted with him as friends normally would- though he would never call any of them friends. Thirteen is when things actually started happening, he took off his long sleeved shirts, his fingerless gloves and would stretch his hands out for the world to see.

Sometimes, there would be nothing, other times people might see the hint of this glow, of some foreign type of energy just dancing in his palms but when they take a second look its gone. He'd smirk at those people, flaunting his hands in such a mocking manner before he abandoned them to pay attention to something else.

Once a man walked up on him, when he was sitting in an alley palms facing a small garbage can, a pulse of energy racing between the two objects. The man yelled, asked what the _fuck_ he was doing and Regis freaked, spinning around just as the sparks left his palm. It took ten minutes of this horrid screeching before the blackened corpse collapsed on the ground. The boy just stood there frozen, hands shaking and- and-

His third name was Shinigami, he ran away from the orphanage and never returned. First few years of street life were harsh on him. He was once again the bottom of the food chain, scrambling to get ahead in any possible way he could. After the first year he took to mugging, holding a knife close to his chest with his blue glaring as he whispered threatening words and demanded all valuables. He probably stabbed at least fourteen people- five of them he knows for sure are dead.

At sixteen he left the streets, found a shabby little apartment building, lied about his age and promised to pay extra if the manager would let him stay. But, whilst he was off the streets he kept the same way of life. Hiding in the alleyways and threatening passerbys. He tried his hand at robbing stores twice, first time being successful without using the spark that lies in his hands. The second time ended up with the building going up in flames, half of Shinigami's face a land of horrid scar tissue and his right eye uselessly blank.

It took weeks for him to brave the outdoors again, and even then he hid in the shadows with his hands shaking. Whenever he braved the sun a hand often would reach up and cup the right side of his face, hiding away the scar tissue- his eye. And eventually- eventually he came up with a solution, hair always falling on the right side of his face and hiding the tragedy that was it.

So he didn't do robberies. Not anymore. At seventeen he changed his name again- Deidara this time. He also started looking into medicine, the healing arts. There was pain, a lot of pain. Agonizing, torturous pain as he attempted to mend his own skin- mend the wounds across his face. It took a lot of attempts, mistakes, agonizing pains as things went wrong and wrong again.

At nineteen he was Iwa, he left the city he grew up in and started playing in a new business. He had killed over 20 people in his muggings and the second robbery attempt and- he felt like he was heartless enough. Heartless enough to take up a gun, steal a life and make a small fortune all by the name of Deidara.

He still lived in a run down apartment, still hid in the shadows, still would flicker that life in his palms and just smile. Everything was the same, yet was not the same.

Especially when the war broke out on the West and the East hid away from that chaos but yet was so close to falling into that war as well.

Especially when the things that went bump in the night roared and demanded all and any attention.


	2. To Be Hired

**Deidara will be referred to as Iwa for this chapter and maybe part of the next.**

 **(Still not proof read)**

January was the worst kind of month, it was frozen and slow and mind numbing. The streets bustled- excited that the new year has started. Everybody has plans, ideas of how everything is going to work out even though year after year majority get side tracked or have something disastrously happen to them that makes everything go off balance. But what does that matter? It's the new year, everyone should just enjoy looking into the future and imagining their very own fairy tale.

Iwa wasn't like that, no- he knew better. He knew that in reality January was just the middle of winter and always brings those heavy snows and those bone chilling wind. He knows that in January nobody wants anything done, it's more of a planning month than anything else which leaves him jobless and more importantly- penniless. It was always hard to pay his rent when he had no income, no amount of flirting with the land lord had changed that. It's even harder to pay for food but Iwa always had fall back plans when it came to food.

So Januarys? The worst kind of month and always leaving Iwa antsy and wanting time to just speed up so that it can be one of the more lucrative months like March. And it being January 5th made it all the more surprising when he got a call on his… _special_ phone. The one where he isn't known as 'Iwa'. It happened a bit after midnight, a sharp ring and then a flutter of limbs as his sleep was disturbed. He mainly ran off of instinct, hand ripping the phone away from the stand to flip it open and slam it into the side of his face-

"Yeah?"

"Am I…. speaking to…." The voice was pausing, careful with their wording and what they said. It wasn't a voice he was so familiar with but the tone used- the tone he was a master at and could identify anywhere even if the voice itself was new. A job. "Deidara?"

" 'am speaking currently. What do you want." He swung his feet out of his bed hitting the floor with a thump. His shoulder hugged the phone to his face as he dragged his half asleep body up and out of the warm comfort of his bed. He had a feeling the call would end in a midnight run, and even if it did't- he'd have research to do and a number to look into.

"I have a job for you."

"I figured what with you calling me in the first place un. What do you want."

The phone went suspiciously quiet, thoughtful but if there was one thing he hated it was when his clients hid what they wanted. Hiding meant the job isn't worth it or is a trap and he's ran into too many of those to take on another. But then again, January is his dead month so maybe some extra money on the side would be worth it. "Spit it out or I am hanging up on you."

"You know the war in the West?"

Who didn't now a days? Only the idiotic would ignore such a disaster zone so close to home. The question only helped fill him with dread though, chances were high he'd end up rejecting this job. He has refused to even touch that war and no amount of money would make him change his mind. The elimination of those like him is not a hobby of his. "…Yeah."

"Well I want someone dead over there."

"Yeah…It's nice to want things isn't it? I need more information to go off of un, like a name for starters. And payment and a more specific location other than 'war in the West.' "

"I can't talk about it over the phone."

"Well yeah, most people don't admit to wanting someone dead over the phone to a stranger un. Majority give me an address to meet up at."

"I'm not in the East."

"Well. Sounds like a personal problem now doesn't it? Call me back when you are in the east, preferably Chicago un." He didn't even wait for the other voice to answer before sliding the phone away from his ears and hearing the finality of it clicking shut.

He stood in the middle of his room, half dressed in the dark and eyeing the bed because really? Should he even put effort into a job he wasn't going to even accept? Iowa certainly didn't think so. Not when they were still in the West and Deidara was known gun for hire of the _East_. They obviously didn't care enough to find one closer to home. Or maybe their job was so insane that all the ones closer to home rejected them. In which, Deidara would be no different.

He eventually decided on undressing and crawling back into bed, phone abandoned somewhere on the other side of the room and he refused to let it disturb him for the rest of the night- not that the chances were high on it ringing again.

Sleep came quick, almost as soon as his head hit the pillow but morning? Morning came by even quicker with the sun blaring in through old windows. He grumbled, an arm being thrown out to try to fish for something, a shirt- a blanket- anything really that could block out the wretched sun but his hand met nothing but air and dusty floor.

It took a few minutes for Iwa to actually give up on sleeping through that steady stream of sunlight, profanities being whispered under his breathe as he pulled himself upright. It took even longer for him to find himself at his feet and actually preparing for a long boring day.

His days in January were often spent wondering around, a few times he tried his luck on getting a more respectable job but no one wanted some street rat brat to work for them, even if he was in his early twenties (22 to be exact). He always scoped out the alley ways, just to see if any drunkard passed out to make an easy steal, then he'd make his way to a small mom and pop coffee joint in which he'd spend an hour or until one of the owners chased him out. Libraries and the church he'd hit around mid day and then he'd do another swing around the alley ways.

At the end of the night, sometimes at some ungodly hour in the morning he'd find himself stumbling into his humble abode, throwing off clothes before collapsing onto the bed. Blankets would be pulled up, cocooning his body and he'd be out within seconds. His sleep was always dreamless, a fog that seemed to last a second before the sun was glaring at him again. And then his day would repeat. And repeat. And repeat again.

Iwa honestly despised January.

It was three days after the first time his special phone rang when it gave that sharp trill as someone called him. This time a bit in the evening rather than disturbing his slumber. He peeked at the number, faintly recalling it being the number from before and promptly hit end call. He refused to have anything to do with the West, and answering the call would do nothing but waste his time.

It was an hour later when the number called again. And an hour later from that where they called again. And as another hour went by, the phone rang again. Then a minute after he hit end call it rang again. And again. And again. And again.

"What the flying fuck do you want bastard." His voice was brutal, hand flexing with a tiny spark flickering between his fingers and all he really wanted to do was find the retard who thought it would be a good idea to call him over and over and over again. The best way to avoid death is to not piss off those who are known to kill people is what he always thought.

"I'm in Chicago." The voice was tense, irritated and Iwa imagined it was some rich fat person (could be a man, could be woman, he couldn't tell by the voice.) with a red face cursing his existence. The vision made him a tad happier than he was before.

"Well that's nice. Good for you." He snapped, curling his lip.

The voice growled, "Where do you want to meet up at."

Nowhere. Job declined, job unwanted, go back to the West- to your little war and find someone else. He didn't say that, instead he spat out a location to a Starbucks on the other side of Chicago and a time (two hours from now.). Iwa wasn't going to show of course- well he might but if he did he wouldn't be the only one showing up, the Reaper would be visiting as well and taking home a soul.

The other gave a rough confirmation that was followed by the distinctive click of the the phone hanging up. Iwa rolled his eyes before fishing through his pockets for a coin.

"Tails for the kill." He mumbled as he flicked it up into the air, watching it twirl and twirl before his hand swapped it out of the air and slammed it into his arm. Revealing the coin showed a face looking up at him. Iwa was man enough to admit that he was a little disappointed that luck didn't feel like letting his mystery caller die just yet. But only just a little bit.

His phone rang in exactly two and a half hours, he rejected the call with a little smirk. It rang ten minutes later, and then again, and again and again and eventually Iwa just got sick of the noise-

"Can you just not get the hint un? What do I have to do? Send you fucking flowers?"

"I'd rather you not actually. Go to that mom and pop coffee joint you like to frequent in ten minutes and don't worry about your other client, she won't be needing you anymore. Be sure to show up little Mage." It was a male voice, that Iwa was 100% certain of, calm and collected and the next thing he was aware of was the solid click of being hung up as he sat there frozen with a phone cushioned between his hand and his head.

Because, he was just called a Mage.

He was just called the one thing he hid so desperately, his one little secret he let no one know.

And some stranger just called him out on it. That's just-

Shouldn't be possible, no one except those like him, or those involved in that war know about the mythical actually existing. And those involved in the war shouldn't even know that some gun for hire in the East is a bit more than a gun for hire. Heck- even those like him shouldn't know of his magically inclined abilities because he never _told anyone._ And he was careful, always made sure he was alone before he'd let that little spark in his palms appear- he was _careful_.

No one could possibly know about it- it was just _impossible_. It just was. And- and-

He was on auto pilot, not really paying attention to his surrounding as he moved from the outside of his apartment complex to the cozy little mom and pop coffee shop. His hands twisted around each other, nervous over someone _knowing_. This just- it couldn't end well, he didn't see how it could possibly end well. Some human knowing that he wasn't completely human? They'd call the government, take in for testing to see what the best way to go against his kind (there was a whole war started over it after all, even if the East wasn't completely aware about it. But it was there, if you knew where to look you'd see it.) and after everything? They would most certainly kill him. He should probably just run. Escape now, maybe go down to Florida, he liked the warmer weather after all.

But- but- someone _knew_. He knew he wasn't the only one, watched the news and seen the small little sparks that happened mid battle- but knowing was different, because it was obvious he couldn't be the _only_ one but-

Having someone else say it made the world of difference because it suddenly wasn't just him and his thoughts. So even if he knew it'd be better to just flee, because this was most likely a trap and he was going to die, he couldn't help but keep striding forward and going towards that coffee shop to meet the mysterious man who knew that he was a mage. That knew magic existed.

It was just-

The man in the coffee shop was everything but what he expected, youthful and tall and skinny with pale, pale skin and flaming hair and so much iron stuffed into his face it wasn't even funny. He had his eyes closed, head tilted slightly to the side as if listening to something really interesting and at first Iwa just thought he was some random punk that was in the coffee shop.

But he couldn't be, well he could but he was the only one in the coffee shop and the other man was supposed to be here- then again they could just be a sniper and maybe no one would be here. Maybe he'd never meet the person who knew about magic, and wouldn't that just be hilarious?

But then- then the youths eyes opened, an endless sea of grey with sharp rings everywhere. The rings almost seemed to move, to some kind of hypnotizing dance and Iwa was in the seat across from the man before he knew what happened, his legs crossed and hands folded across the table. The man gave a small smirk before his eyes slid close again.

'"Iwa."

And if that didn't startle Iwa, he didn't know what would. Mind freezing because he barely shared his name with anyone and no one should know that 'Deidara' and 'Iwa' are the same person, there was no paper trail, no witnesses to that change- nothing. Even his appearance changed, going from a disgusting scar on his face to just a blind eye, and his housing always moved around when he contemplated name changing after swapping to the name Shinigami. And that- that made him fear more than this man knowing he was a mage ever would- and he knew that this was the man that he spoke to on the phone, the voice almost an exact match.

"My name's Deidara. Not Iwa."

"I thought now a days you went by Iwa? That's what my contact says anyways." The man shifted, leaning slightly over the table as he perched his chin on his palm with his spinning eyes barely open. Iwa felt himself frozen, drawn into those spinning depths and he knew, those eyes couldn't be human- this _man_ couldn't be human but yet he seemed perfectly human. It seemed impossible for him to _not_ be human, to be a mage or some other fantasy monster of the night.

"Your contact was wrong. What do you want un." Iwa couldn't help the snappish response- skin crawling at the wrongness of this apparent human, who couldn't be human yet was. The man gave a lazy smirk, other hand producing a thin folder and sliding it across the table.

"There's a man that has been causing me a bit of issues. I want… a middle man I guess you would say. I think someone of your capabilities would be able to help me out with someone with his capabilities." Iwa gave him a wary look, hands slowly grabbing the folder and opening it. Inside was a smooth clean looking paper with a photograph stapled to it, the man in the photograph was definitely surly looking, lips pulled into a scowl and eyes narrowed. His head was this dark ref flame, short and curled around his pale skin and at the tip of his forehead was this dark tattoo. Next to the photograph were bold letters, 'Gaara' and under that were the words 'Earth Mage' and in even smaller font- 'Colonel of the Sand Branch.'. And the Sand Branch? That was in the West, a small group with a fearless leader the decimated everything they went against and Iwa? He refused to have anything to do with that crap. It didn't matter what the man in front of him knew, he'd have nothing to do with that tasteless war.

He closed the folder, not bothering to look at anything else and looked back up at those swirling grey rings, the man no longer smirking but merely observing him. "Find some one else to do your job. I especially won't deal with one that is similar to myself."

"Oh- but he isn't. He merely is a… copy cat lets say. And there is certainly no one else for the job, you are the best prospect we have for it."

"Well. Sucks to be you then doesn't it? I'm not doing it un." He snapped, pulling himself away from the table and just as he was about to stand up he found himself frozen again by the ringed eyes that kept on spinning and spinning and-

"I find it entertaining that you think you have a choice. See this? This is just, me being polite. It's polite to request cooperation first don't you think? Now. If I were you, I'd look back at that file and then tell me you will accept the job. It ends better for everyone involved." His voice was bland, as if bored of the conversation again and already accepting victory and that above all else just pissed the blonde man off. If there was one thing that got his blood boiling, it was when someone thought they could force him to do something.

He tore his eyes away from that spinning graze, snarling a "Fuck you." as he stood up and marched out of that small cafe. And that, that should have been the end of everything. Nothing else should have followed, even if those grey eyes watched him leave with amusement shining through them.

The next day he found himself breaking his routine, hiding away in the library and staring at the books of mythology and daring himself to look for a book about grey eyed creatures. That wasn't even the worse of it all, the man haunted him- lurking behind every corner of his thought process and his words a friendly stalker that bumped into his thoughts at every possible chance and- what did he even mean that 'Gaara' was a copy cat? How could someone be a booming copy cat of someone they don't even know?

It took a week, a week of researching in the library and burying himself into books and never really getting a confirmation because if he's honest with himself he isn't sure what is all _reality_ and what is all _fantasy_ \- and after a week his phone gave that special little trill again and when he flipped it open with a "yeah" at his lips he found another address spat at him, this time the library. And, if he's honest with himself he willingly went to the library to meet up with the grey eyed stranger, there was no getting lost in his thought process just this brimming curiosity eating at him.

The meeting started something similar to the last, the man calling him Iwa and him snapping that "I'm Deidara, get it right. You'd think you'd know your own assassin's name un." and the man merely gave him a small smirk, a small smug little upturn of the lips and Iwa kind of hated him at that time.

The man still handed him the folder, same folder with the same pristine paper and same scowl face staring at him. "What did you mean by he's a copy cat un? He probably doesn't even know I exist."

"He doesn't." And that was it, nothing followed, just period. End of sentence and Iwa glared at the man because that answered nothing.

"Then how is he a copy cat."

"Why should I answer you if you don't want to take on the job."

"How do you even plan on getting me close enough to do the job." Iwa swapped topics, opening and closing the folder, unsure on whether or not he even wanted to read the rest of the file. To read whatever else they had on 'Gaara'.

"I'll get you a plane ticket and then you will join the small little ragtag team I have going on. The rest should be easy enough."

"It's never that easy un." Because it simply wasn't, obviously the man never really thought things through- especially if he thinks being able to kill the colonel of the highest ranking group the West has to offer is going to be _easy_.

"Depends on how you look at it. It's all perspective." In Iwa's perspective the one with the money always views it as easy because they never had to get their hands dirty. He on the other hand had to give up blood, sweat, and tears to get his job finished. It was never easy, and it never was going to be _easy_.

"What's wrong with your eyes un."

The man cracked a smirk, "That's for me to know and you to find out." and his _voice_ , it made Iwa's hands curl up and his fingernails to dig into his palm to not fall into the temptation of making the bastard _burn_ because that was not an answer.

"I'm not taking this job." The rings started to spin in a flash and Iwa found himself frozen, again though for the first time in this little meet and greet.

"Then why show up."

His mouth opened, then closed and- "To get answers un."

"Then take the job. You'll get your answers and more."

"I'm not dealing with the West." Those rings stopped spinning, the man leaning back and cocking his head to the side. "I'm not asking you to deal with the West. Just one person."

"Whose in the West un."

"Well if I could get him to the East I would." As if that would solve anything, he was still the colonel of a major fighting group from the _West_ and that was still shit he didn't want to deal with.

"Answers aren't worth dying for."

"For you, they just might be." And that voice was suddenly just so knowing, as if knowing that his lack of knowledge was just killing Iwa- that not even knowing if he was _real_ made him want to curl up in a ball and hide away from the world.

But Iwa refused to do it, it wasn't worth it. That war killed and he didn't want to help kill those like him- he refused to. Even if the man in front of him was something like him, that man was expecting him to kill another mage. And that? Iwa refused to do. He stood up, a signal that the meeting was at an end and he had already had a plan on what words to say, to confirm that he wanted nothing to do with the job and that he won't be meeting up with the grey ringed eyed man anymore.

"Last time I ask politely, take the job." That- that was a new voice. A cold and calculative voice that gave Iwa chills at just hearing it. Looking at the face of the man just made Iwa want to hide, it was frozen and uncaring and those eyes were a spiral of grey and grey and grey. He wasn't sure what made him scared, because it was still human, still this bland face with too many piercings and this bright hair with pale skin but he felt fear burn into his skin and his hair stand on end. For the first time he felt unexplainably scared and powerless.

"No." But for him, he could be scared for his life and in pain but he refused to bow down to others- that was not him. He gave the man a final glare, and left with his palms tingling- and that was the biggest mistake he could have ever done.

The world went black in a second, legs crumbling under him and the man standing behind him as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. As if some man didn't just randomly crumble to the ground.

He woke up to the screaming of a child and of a way to uncomfortable seat and when he looked into a window that sure as hell wasn't a library window all he could see was just planes of grass differing in shades of greens and yellows and sometimes he saw a tiny road or a small funky shape of blue and- this was so not the library. In fact, he would almost say that this was a plane. A plane he didn't remember getting on. Looking to his other side he was the grey eyed man, sitting proper with a laptop in his lap and fingers buzzing across the keyboard.

"I was wondering when you would wake up." His voice was the same as before, bland and uncaring- as if nothing was weird about the situation. Iwa begged to differ because this certainly wasn't normal.

"What the fuck." The words were out of Iwa's mouth without his brain okaying them, but could you blame him? He felt no regret for the slip, not even as grey rings looked at him.

"Language, there are children aboard. I told you, I was being polite about requesting for your cooperation. You are going to cooperate whether you want to or not- well I guess you can die too. I personally don't care which." He typed another thing out before closing the laptop with a solid click and giving Iwa his full attention.

"Iwa or Deidara."

"What un."

"I need to know what you'd rather others call you by, Iwa or Deidara."

"Deidara is my name." He spat out, because they went over this _three_ times already and he's still asking. Maybe the man was slow or something.

"Then only go by Deidara until your job is finished otherwise you may confuse the others." The man shuffled up, grabbing a bag under the chair in front of him and putting the laptop in it before fishing out a familiar folder and handing it to Iwa, "I suggest you familiarize yourself with this. This will be the last time you see the folder."

"What's your name un." Iwa- No, Deidara jerked the folder out of the man's hands with a glare, angrily opening it just to stare at that pristine folder. He almost missed the answer of his snapped question-

"Pein."


End file.
